


Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps)

by havisham



Category: DCU, Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover Pairings, Lurking Daddy Issues, M/M, Porn With Plot, Vampire Slayer(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:56:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A patrol goes horribly wrong, and Jason makes a new friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps)

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-reboot DCU and DCnU collide! (Or, I couldn't let Oracle go. Sorry.)

Used to as he was to dealing with entirely human monsters, it took Jason a second to take it all in. There was a lost tourist couple, maps of the city clutched in their hands, easy pickings, stalked by a couple of sketchy looking hoods. They all went into an alleyway -- and -- the tourists turned, their faces splitting open to reveal rows and rows of sharp teeth. Sharks’ teeth. 

The hoods fled, but Jason (and his amazing, shittastic luck) swooped in, cursing the day he let Bruce take his guns. The one that used to be a woman leaped at him, her blond hair still held back by a striped headband. Jason jammed his knife into her throat, but her partner was on him, wrapping his red cardigan tightly around Jason’s neck, his hands squeezing the life out of him. 

Fuck, fuck, Jason thought, furiously, this was not the way he wanted to go out (again), murdered by vampire tourists. Hell, it wasn’t even Halloween.

He was still fighting when he heard it, a blast so close to his ear that for a moment, then two, he heard nothing at all, just a buzzing silence. The male vamp dissolved into a gooey red mist, coating the alleyway (and Jason) and a moment later, the survivor shrieked, as Jason’s knife finally cut through her neck. She didn’t so much explode as she dissolved into a quickly collapsing column of blood and guts, splattering messily on the pavement. 

Panting and still short of breath, Jason looked up to see who his backup had been. It was a blond guy, tall, older than him, and no one he recognized. His voice is was strong, not used to being ignored. “Did they bite you?” 

That was a good question, and Jason got up (painfully) and checked for injuries. He was covered with blood and gore, but none of it was his. “No.” 

If this guy was tall, he was followed by a guy who was even taller, brown hair spilling in his face. A dumb haircut, but Jason wasn’t really in a position to judge right then. “Dean,” said the other guy, urgently, and behind him, even with the loud ringing in his ear, Jason picked up on the wail of police sirens coming closer. Looked like the two wanted the cops sniffing around as much as he did. Jason shot off a zipline, and caught the first guy’s eye. He grinned. “See ya around.” 

The guy looked back, as if unsure whether he should be pissed or relieved, watched him go for a moment, and then sprinted away. Jason could hear the screech of tires against asphalt, and then nothing.

*

It took him an hour to wash off all the blood, and still the steam from shower looked faintly pink. He filed his report to Babs lying in bed, mostly naked, and she clicked her tongue in disapproval. He grinned, shifted his position, to gain a better angle. “Who are they? Those two?” 

She sighed over the comm, accompanied by the taping of keyboards. “You can do your own research.” 

“What, and miss the opportunity to socialize with you? You got this place bugged, O? Can you see me right now?” He let his voice go breathy and soft and he heard her scoff at the other end of the line. Dick Grayson, he wasn’t. 

“This is it. Winchesters, Sam and Dean. Active since the mid-nineties or thereabouts. Previously associated with one John Winchester, their father, thought to be deceased. Native Kansans, looks like.” 

“One of Supes’ people?” 

“Not so much, Boy Blender. Bruce’s got a red flag on them. I don’t know what they’re doing in Gotham. They know this city’s protected.” 

 

* 

What they were doing in Gotham, Jason didn’t know, but he was going to find out. Once he had the particulars, it was easy to track them down. They were grifters, small-time con-men, looked like, the kind that left a paper-trail a mile-wide. Sloppy. No wonder Bruce didn’t like them. 

They were staying at the Starlight Lodge, which, even by the standards of the rattrap motels of Gotham, was sketchy. Jason trailed his fingers over the hood of the Impala, parked outside the Winchesters’ door. It was impressive, though of course Jason preferred motorcycles best. 

He knocked on the door. Dean answered. And closed the door on his face. 

Jason wasn’t the kind of guy to get discouraged -- not at all -- he knocked again, and when it opened, he shouldered in, using his bulk to his advantage. But Dean was tall, taller than Jason. (But not taller than Bruce, but then again, who was?) And Dean looked at him, appraising and scornful at once, and yeah, Jason just knew that he would have to fuck with this one. Or fuck him. Or get fucked, by him. Really, he wasn’t too particular about that score. 

So he started out with: “What’s your business in Gotham, chum?” 

“Just passing through,” Dean said and grinned, in challenge. For a guy who’d been on the road for most of his life (according to his files) he had awfully straight, white teeth. 

Jason ran his tongue over his own teeth, still uneven, despite all of Bruce’s riches, and grinned back. “The highway’s that-a-way, if you’re interested.” 

“Thanks for the info, I appreciate it,” Dean said and here they were interrupted by the bathroom door opening, and Sam coming through. He stopped dead on his way to desk covered with papers and books, and a laptop already open. Jason made a note to have Babs -- or Tim -- hack into it. It couldn’t hurt. “Who are you?” 

“Shit, how rude of me, barging in here and not introducing myself,” Jason pressed a hand on his heart and blinked -- tried to blink -- he was still wearing his mask, though not his helmet. He said, with a flourish, “The Red Hood, at your service.” 

“He’s the clown who almost got chomped by some vamps today,” said Dean, by way of explanation and Jason hissed through his teeth.

He turned sharply to Dean and said, “Not really in a joking mood now. You tell me what you’re here for, and maybe I can help. Either that or you pack up and leave town.” 

*

Jason still had a little trouble accepting that sometimes the most natural explanation was -- well, the supernatural. Spooky shit. It was partly Bruce’s influence, he guessed, and that set his teeth on edge, naturally. He didn’t like to think Bruce left marks on him so deep. But there it was, vampires in Gotham, specializing in luring honest criminals to their deaths... Well, some things you had to see to believe. 

Babs called in backup before Jason could tell her not to bother, and soon the abandoned department store where the vampires had made their nest was half-burned to the ground, and most of the vampires staked, and the Winchesters nowhere in sight. That was it, end of it. Their room at the Starlight was vacated, and shit, Jason had better things to do than wonder about a couple of amateurs who went by their real names, who didn’t even bother with masks.

He sure didn’t think of Dean Winchester at all, or that promise that had gone unfulfilled. 

* 

It was at a shithole bar, during the middle of the Apocalypse, that Jason saw Dean again. Jason was there, tracking how fast Roy could get wasted (pretty damn fast) and it was Kory’s turn to haul his drunk ass home -- and really, she was a lot stronger than Jason, and if Roy didn’t mind getting hoisted over Kory’s shoulder, then there was no reason Jason should. He stayed back to finish his beer when he caught sight of a half-familiar shape, lurking at the back of the bar. 

Well, yeah, lurking was the right word for it, and and he was accompanied by a guy with messy black hair and an honest-to-god trenchcoat, and Jason had to wonder what kind of people Dean ran with. That brother of his wasn’t in sight. 

When finally Jason sidled into the booth opposite Dean, the latter shot him a look that was mix of recognition and caution. He tried to dispel that with charming smile, though the effects of which were debatable. The guy Dean was with had disappeared, but Dean didn’t seem bothered by his sudden departure. Dean coughed, and said, “Can I help you...?” 

“Jason,” he said, unable to keep a wide shit-eating grin from his face. “I thought I’d come here and say hello.” 

“You gonna buy me a drink, Jason?” 

“Nah,” Jason leaned forward -- he was in civilian clothes, just jeans and a t-shirt, he wanted Dean to see his eyes, “but I’ll go back with you to your motel room.” 

“What makes you think I would be?” 

“Mm, call it intuition.” Also, hope, but Dean didn’t need to know that.

Dean leaned forward. His eyes were as green as Jason’s own. A smile quirked up his lips, full and flushed pink. “Is that right, Red?” 

Jason hadn’t been very diligent with his dye-jobs recently -- his once pitch-black hair was now shot-through with more than a subtle hint of copper. But he wasn’t convinced that this was what Dean was getting at.

(After all, a man in a mask looked very much like a man without one.)

Jason leaned forward, splaying his fingers across the table-top, his fingers getting greasy in the process. “How about it?” 

* 

Give a man his due, once Dean decided something, he did not mess around. 

He pushed Jason down to the bed, and Jason bounced, breathless with excitement. He yanked his t-shirt over his head and tossed it away. His jeans were too tight, and he bucked them off, one leg at a time. Jason paused, to see what Dean was doing, and what Dean was doing was nothing. He stood at the edge of the bed, watching him. 

Jason bit his lip, and put up his hands. “Look. It’s been kind of a while for me.” He even hadn’t bothered with underwear tonight -- not for sexy reasons, but because laundry was a pain in the ass. 

Dean blinked. “Yeah. Fuck. Me too.” 

And he took off his shirt, and yeah, he was beautiful. He had scars, yeah, but Jason was used to that. He wouldn’t know what to do with someone who didn’t have their work written into their bodies like that. He’d feel guilty, bringing his own chaos into their lives, but with people like Dean, he didn’t have to worry. 

Fate, destiny, and all that screwed-up shit, came off him like a scent. 

This one, it said, this one you can tear apart. 

Dean unbuckled his belt and slid out of his jeans, and stepped out of his underwear, dingy-white and with holes in it. Jason was already panting, rubbing his cock against the palm of his hand. He wasn’t going to last ten minutes, much less the night, if he kept it up. 

There it was, what he’d been waiting for, the familiar-unfamiliar slide of skin against skin, the feeling of muscles against his fingertips, pushing against him, this was what he hungered for. Yes, yes, yes, he muttered under his breath, leaving kisses on Dean’s shoulder, on his neck, the side of his jaw. Jason worried the tender spot at the base of his neck, his kisses degenerating into bites, marks against Dean’s tanned skin. 

Dean sucked in a breath and said, “That all you got, boy?” 

Jason puckered his lips, both sweet and sour. “Fuck you.” 

Dean gave a short, rough bark of laughter, and suddenly all his weight was on Jason and it felt good, it felt right. Dean’s breath was hot, hot, against his ear. “That’s not what you want.” 

Jason licked his lips, and brushed them against Dean’s jaw, feeling the stubble rub against them. “And what do I want?” 

“You want me to fuck you into the mattress, you want to take a beating, you want it to hurt, you want it all. And you’ve wanted it since you swaggered into my room in Gotham, making all those demands you had no right to make.” 

Jason gasped out a garbled string of curses and Dean shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Only if you ask nicely.” 

Jason thumbed the head of his dick thoughtfully, as if mulling this over. “You got any rubbers on you?” 

Dean did, in fact, have rubbers on him, well, near him, well, in Sam’s duffle bag, and he brought those along with a bottle of lube and plunked them down on the bedside table. Jason watched him with hooded eyes. Jesus, Dean was practically skipping, coming back to bed. 

Smirking, Jason said, “Hey, I understand the enthusiasm, but...” 

“You can shut up anytime now,” Dean said happily, coming over and slapping Jason’s thigh. 

Jason muttered, “Make me.” 

And so Dean did. 

* 

He loved this, he did, even with his legs pushed in awkward, almost-painful angles, one akimbo and another wrapped around Dean’s waist, as he watched him try to push in. Jason squirmed, he couldn’t help it, he’d batted away Dean’s hand and pushed his hips, demandingly. Dean’s face was in shadow, with only his mouth, a cupid’s bow, illuminated but the light filtered in from the window. 

“Now what do you say?” His voice was thick and rough, and his hands gripped Jason’s hips tightly. 

Jason panted, “Fuck you, fuck -- Oh, fuck, please.” 

“You’re a real son-of-a-bitch, aren’t you?” Dean said with a grin.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Jason groaned, and Dean nodded, he didn’t. So he pushed in, filling up Jason up, inch by painful inch inch, until Jason could feel the scratch of Dean’s pubic hair against his ass. He swore again, and begged Dean to move. 

Dean complied, but so slowly that Jason thought that he was doing it deliberately, to drive Jason wild. It was working. A careful thrust, and Jason was ready to choke him, and would have, probably, if Dean hadn’t thought to hold his arms down. 

“Fucker, move,” Jason hissed, frantic for some kind of friction. And Dean obliged, thrusting in and then out, powerful, shit, shit. Jason felt sweat prickle on his forehead and he raked his nails, blunt-cut though they were, against Dean’s side. His mouth, his tongue could only reach the straining part of Dean’s abs, his stomach, and then Jason turned his attention back to himself, pumping his dick until he squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth moving at its own volition. He came with a rush of heat, Bruce’s name on his lips. 

Dean finished a few minutes later, with a grunt, and they lay exhausted in crusty motel sheets for a beat, then two, until Jason felt an elbow digging into ribs. Dean had rolled over, and in his hand was a bunch of moist towelettes. Jason gave him a muttered thanks and cleaned himself up. He wasn’t the kind of guy to stay around for cuddles -- he wasn’t -- and so, wincing a little, he rolled out of bed, and started looking for his jeans. 

A faint snore came from the bed; Dean was sound asleep, his arm thrown over his face. 

Jason’s jeans had somehow found their way under the bed, and by the time he’d got them half-way on, he felt a rush of air behind him, and heard a raspy voice say, “Dean!” 

Jason turned and came face to face with the guy who had been at the bar earlier. 

He blinked. “You aren’t Dean.” It was an accusation as much as a statement. 

“Ya think?” Jason said, as he collapsed back into bed. His movement jostled Dean awake. Dean groaned, and turned to them. He sat up, suddenly tense. “Cas? What’s wrong? Is Sam okay?” 

So apparently this Cas guy appearing out of the blue was a totally normal experience for Dean. Jason shook his head, suddenly rueful. Now he knew how Gordon must feel. Or, actually, worse, how Bullock must feel. 

“I see that you have company … The matter can wait until morning.” They both looked at him then, and Jason took this as a cue to leave. 

“Well, it’s been --” He paused, thought about it, shrugged, “Interesting. Dean -- I’ll see you sometime, I guess?” He pulled his t-shirt over his head, stretching out, and someone switched on the light and he got good long look at Cas. Hooded blue eyes, rumpled black hair, a mess. Jason couldn’t hold back a grin. Looked like Dean had a type. 

Dean caught his look, and gave him a smirk. “Yeah. Say hi to Bruce for me.” 

And Jason was out of there, quick. He closed the door behind him and sniffed the air, which carried with it the smell of exhaust and rain and rising heat. He breathed it in, and closed his eyes for a moment, before he walked into the night, and it closed over him again, familiar and beloved. 

Jason couldn’t keep a grin off his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from David Bowie. 
> 
> Thank you, Elleth, for taking a look at it.


End file.
